Autumn in Adelaide : Miscellaneous

"I finished it off with some French wine and cheese." - Damien Rice

 

Autumn in Adelaide : Rockclimbing @ Holden Hills

"Sometimes the only way is jumping, I hope you're not afraid of heights." - Gavin DeGraw

 

My friends in the car did not hold back their snickers and laughter when Shu Wen announced of my excitement to join her rockclimbing in the evening I arrived in Adelaide. Daniel and Obi guessed I would fly off into the thin air even though it is an indoor session. But who could blame them when they saw me in person at the airport? Everyone was gaining weight for winter I went the other way instead. I was literally blown a couple of steps backwards while walking in the street opposing the strong autumn wind. Ethan teased me being wrapped up in layers of clothes while he was just puffing cigarettes in clothes he wears even back home in hot hot Penang. For the four days I was in Adelaide, I befriended the fan heater and carried it to every room I go to. I defrosted with scorching hot cups of tea and showered in skin burning water temperature. Ah the weird delight of enjoying visible steam rushing out of the bathroom when I was done.

We braved the night wind to Vertical Reality Climbing in Holden Hills. I have never done rockclimbing before. I have never been to anywhere related to this sport too. And it was a sight for me upon entering the room. Walls separated by different colours marked the complications and challenges. Rocks with no sense of directions and formations ran its way all the way up to the ceiling. Some big, some small, some just might as well not exist because they will not help much in the ascending anyway. Ropes. Mountain hiking ropes linking from top to bottom. Two for each wall. Strong enough to hoist a living human being up to midair. Enthusiasts chose their walls and strapped on, ready to make their climb whenever their belayer is ready as well.

There was a short introduction. How to do this. What are the safety measures. Honestly, I was quite lost at some point of the briefing. I admit my attention span has gotten shorter and shorter by the day. I cannot pay attention for more than five minutes anymore. But well, I was not alone. Shu Wen and her friend were there to tend to me.

You wonder where this confidence came from. To just hold on to one rock after another, taking one step higher than the one before. Surely it cannot be only the thought of knowing you are safely strapped with a harness and your belayer is watching your every move. You give your belayer too much credit. Can you really trust him/her that much? You climb. Higher and higher. Until you are done. You are up there. You think to yourself, how is this possible. To fear climbing up so high and maybe slip and fall. And yet to climb anyway as if you will not have a fatal accident. It is simultaneous. Fear and courage just blends in together. Such paradox. How is this possible?

You cling onto dear life till your knuckles turn white. Your arms are giving in. It is time to let go if you ever want to come down. Do you really trust your belayer? What if he/she cannot control the rope well and you just drop into oblivion. (OK, I was just being dramatic. There were safety clips helping the belayer.) Letting go is really something. You have gotten so used to holding on. You have to let go. And fall.

You have to really trust your belayer here. It is not something you can easily give away. But the liberation. Oh the liberation. How sweet it tastes when you land safely on your own two feet.

Have you seen Our Lady Peace's Somewhere Out There music video? I love that video. I wrote two stories out of that song and made everyone cry. I am good at making people cry. Ask me, I should know. But I love that video. You see this girl climb up the speakers and sound systems and just fall herself into the crowd. Crowd surfing. I should try that some day and hope nobody gropes my boobs and ass. The feel of falling into hands you know will be there to catch you. Or not know. Scary. Yet not at the same time.

So there is this game I heard of in therapeutical sessions out there. How the therapist or whoever it is standing in front giving the seminar tells you to trust your partner. You stand in front of him/her and just fall back into his/her welcoming arms. You do not even know if the partner is paying attention or not. He might be checking out the girl in another group. Ooh nice ass. I wish I am groping hers instead of these. She might be daydreaming of her next manicure session. Funky Orange or Dazzling Pink. Decisions. Decisions. Decisions. Oh my gawd, I'm going to be carrying him? No way, I am going to chip my nails.

Trust. Such a strong word. Give in to liberation and just fall. How would you know it is not the hard ground that is going to welcome you instead? See, you do not know. This fear mixes with confidence. Amazing, is it not?

It looks challenging, I guess. With the gravity defying diagonal walls. I was doing fine at first until I was halfway through and suddenly there were no rocks up ahead for me to move on. I was stuck. And I suspected myself inching more and more towards the other wall for more rocks to hoist myself up. I think I lent a few rocks from the other wall to go past the blank space there.

What was next was a gap. A separation from one wall to another above. What. Now. I spent almost a minute figuring out my way to move forward. I wanted to come down. My arms were getting tired. Oh boy, I was high enough. There was no way to go on. But I did not come all the way to rockclimb in Adelaide to stop midway. And that rock hanging upside down in front of me is there for a reason. You just need to figure your way around it.

Nonetheless, I reached the top, felt the dusty and rusty maroon pipe above my head and hooted to my friends below. Now I have the bragging rights to go home and tell my friends I rockclimbed three fucking walls. How daft is that?

Autumn in Adelaide : Hahndorf

"When autumn comes, it doesn't ask. It just walks in where it left you last. You never know when it starts until theres fog inside the glass around your summer heart." - John Mayer

 

I took a piece of autumn home with me. So fragile. Like a porcelain heart.

Autumn in Adelaide : North Terrace

"Autumn is the time for dying, not spring. Autumn encourages macabre thoughts, invites the ghoulish imagination, tempts the death with with sere and withered evidence of decay. Autumn is poetic as hell, brief, succinct, stinking of mold and ashes. People die a lot in autumn. Everything dies a lot in autumn." - Ed McBam

 

One have so many reasons to end up in Adelaide during the Easter break. I may seem to have a lot of reasons too. But I guess I just want to be with my friends, know my friends are at a closer range than when in Brisbane. Or to run away from assignments left undone. I can never keep true to my words to finish my assignments on said times. I jinx it every time I say it. I believe in jinxes too religiously.

I went to Adelaide for four days. I went. And I fell in love.

I have not seen all of Adelaide to judge. But North Terrace was the prettiest when I saw it. I have never seen red/orange/yellow maple leaves in real life. It was breathtaking. I could have cried. The colours blended with the buildings so perfectly they were meant to be. Husband and wife. They got married and had babies. Students from the University of Adelaide and University of Southern Australia have something to brag about. Especially those studying in the very campuses.

The entire stretch of North Terrace is the University of Adelaide City West campus, Univeristy of Southern Australia City West campus, the Adelaide state library and the Art Gallery of Southern Australia. The Royal Adelaide Hospital is just down the block. I may have left out some buildings in between but how can you blame me? I was only there for a day.

I do admit it was a fucking long stretch. But hey, the scenery was beautiful. The weather a little too cold for someone from Brisbane like me but I would rather put up with a freezing weather than a scorching one. I could barely feel my hands as I pivot at every turn and kneel on every sidewalk trying to find a perfect shot.

There is something familiar. I can feel it when I walk down the cold pavement. I never did figure out where the familiarity lies in the life I have trod past. It is impossible that I have been here before; I am from Malaysia. Maybe from a dream. You know, one of those deja vu ones. You dream of something that has yet to come. You wake up not remembering much of it. But when it happens in real life, your head pauses and you remember out of all the things you are not meant to remember in life. And you can only think to yourself wow, I saw the future. Once upon a time, I saw a future that I am standing in now. If you tell the person next to you, either he will laugh with/at you (even though it was not even a joke to begin with) or look at you funny or ignore you. Or maybe I have seen too many shows on silver screens and television screens. Or pictures. I hang out at Getty Images quite often when I was stuck in yesterday's mere rain and too much sun, fantasising of spring, summer, autumn and winter that I thought I will never see. Now. I see it. And it looks so familiar. Something I can relate to when really, it is none of my fucking business.

You know one of those surveys you forward to your friends via email. They ask what is your favourite season. Or an either-or: summer or winter. I have always loved autumn. Everything ends and begins simultaneously in this season. I doubt I will be able to see this in Brisbane. He is more of a fan of summer, in my opinion. Look at Adelaide, she has gone to autumn with maple leaves turning red and nearing death. Brisbane, he is still basking in a brownish summer glow, living in denial that no, no, no, autumn is not here yet. Summer is not over. But you know it is over; the temperature has dropped.

I did myself a favour and took a final stroll down North Terrace before I leave. I was done with my shopping in Rundle Mall and satisfied with the bags I carry. I will not be meeting my friends for an early dinner that soon yet. So to kill time, I did what I did. I purposedly forget about my jumper and leave it in my bag. I wore only clothes I brought from home, which seem fit only for hotter weathers. The only cold weather garment I had on was a scarf that is not even mine. My hands were freezing, my lips were chapped, my skin craved for any hint of dying sunshine peeking through. Oh gawd, I am so poetic. I would write a song out of this if I can. Alas, I am no lyricist or musician. Good for you; you do not need to suffer my corniness.

There is a sense of belonging in something you love. This sense of satisfaction blossoming inside of you. A smile you cannot help put on seeing what you see. You want to capture everything. Darn it that you are not where she is. When is life ever fair? But this is all that you have been given. Take it. Take it all. Keep her in your heart and mind, where nobody can reach in and steal it. Do not let anybody steal it. It is yours. Nobody will understand. That is why it is yours. You understand.

I went to Adelaide and fell in love. Did you see this dark beauty before you decided to leave for a worse?

Bits of Brisbane : Southbank

"The ocean looks like a thousand diamonds strewn across a blue blanket. I wish you were here." - Incubus

 

Lesson #2

Statuesque
Kate Jabalee

On the left
It felt not quite right
It dangled
Lightly
With room to fill
Tons
Well, at least some

I could twirl it
It would whirl
And as I twisted it
It worn my flesh
I shouldn’t have toyed with it
It was in its right place
On the left

They say it needs to ripen
To strengthen
Like those affections
I mean ours, our affections

They say I’ll grow into it
But I have become still
I can’t twist
Away

As I tugged on it
It tore me
As I wanted out
It dug in
It was soldered
To its right place
On the left

A second ago
One
Just one
It dangled
Heavily
Heavy enough
To fall
Off

They say it needs to sow
To solidify
Like those ways
Ours, of course, our ways
Our lives

They say the displeasure will wane
And I will come to appreciate it
As numbness crosses over
The threshold

As the band was placed upon my finger
It poured into my mould
Like plaster
And I was cast
Aside
On the left
Never right

When days were mine
I held no hand
Now mine is as touched
As sculpted
As cold
As marble
I have become none
We have become one

Jesus in a bunny suit

It makes you wonder what it is all about.

I was out grocery shopping the other day. Because for the next few days there will be public holidays and being Australia, you close on public holidays. Unlike Malaysia. You stay open (probably longer) to prey on innocent holidayers. So I might as well do my grocery shopping to last me at least before I leave for Adelaide next Wednesday. So I was at Woolies and people were swarming the place during lunch hours at the sweeties aisle, picking on chocolates to fill up their chocolate filled baskets.

How come we collect eggs on Easter. Not just those eggs we buy from the grocery stores. Those we scramble, fry, sunny side, half boil or omelette. No. Chocolate eggs to be exact. As if we do not have enough questions to answer. So here you wonder why chocolate eggs. Why not vanilla, strawberry, marmalade or sheesh lavender.

Why a bunny? Who gives us the impression that bunnies give out chocolate eggs? What does a bunny have anything to do with the real meaning of Easter?

Do you even know what Easter is all about?

Why hot crossed buns on Easter too anyway?

Actually, there is nothing good about Friday too. It is supposed to be a day of grieving and mourning. So yes. Nothing good. If it is a public holiday on Good Friday, stay at home and mourn. Cry your eyes out. Break your heart on purpose. Because there really is not anything good about it. Someone died, for Christ's sake. (Pun intended maybe) And for people who do not give a damn.

So yeah. Something to think about this Easter:
1 - Why collect eggs on Easter?
2 - Why collect chocolate eggs on Easter?
3 - Why an Easter bunny?
4 - Why an Easter bunny giving out chocolate Easter eggs?
5 - Why hot crossed buns?
6 - Why is it good on Good Friday?

Happy Easter.

Lazy Saturday

"And it is true what you said, that I live like a hermit in my own head." - Death Cab for Cutie

 

I miss my mom's homemade chicken wings. It has always been a habit to do them every Saturday. I have been eating them since I was a wee child. Moving houses from one end of the island to another does not change the fact that we will not be having them on Saturdays. Well, actually, mom does not do them wings often anymore unless I request for it. But she did went back to the oven on Saturdays until I leave the country. I used to have three per meal (lunch and dinner) when I was a kid. Now. Just two. Never one. Because one is never enough. Chickens need two wings to fly too. If they ever, that is.

So maybe I will get the recipe from my mom and head down to Brisbane's lousy Chinatown to get the ingredients. I cannot go home. So I might as well bring some home to me. Lame, really.

I have tended to do those chicken wings before. It was Christmas a couple of years back. My Jamie Oliver personality sparkled and decided hey, let's us friends get together on Christmas and cook up a storm! It was supposed to be a handful of friends but ended up only two of my friends came over. But all was well. My sister hogged the over for hours marinating an overstuffed turkey, delaying four meals needing the over. We killed the appetising look of the lasagna and cooked six times more portion than we can eat. (But it was fucking good). The kitchen was still standing. However, the wings were a little undercooked. Maybe say 2%. But hey, pretty good for a first timer noob. You have to give me credit for that. /vain

Saturdays back home were pretty much as lazy as the ones here. I try to avoid going out on weekends because it is when the lala's come out to play. Since they so reluctantly give us the decency to rule the mall on weekdays, I shall give them the time of my life to rule the mall on the weekends. (It is a good bargain, do not fucking argue with me.) I sleep in. If I so unfortunately wake up too early for noon, I will go watch some Who's Line reruns at 10AM. Laugh my fucking ass off. My family will never understand why I can be so hearty about TV shows and so flatline for human communications. Then watch more TV while still in my sleeping wear. They always air those brainless chick flicks at 2PM. So I will watch them. Because Saturdays are brainless. Sometimes the movies are better. I will still watch them. Saturdays are just wasting my time away at home with the idiot box. It is as idiotic as an idiot can get with its idiocy.

On rare days, I will get up early and catch the Coffee Bean breakfast sets before 11AM. I love their Brek O'Day. Always with Amelia. Rarely with YiShu. Only when she pays her infamous unexpected homecoming from KL. (Rich bitch.) Two packs of sugar for my tea. First the toast, then the eggs, then the sausages. Sipping cold tea while fagging the most five cigarettes while talking always about my companion's boys. Birdwatching crappy fashion faux pas sauntering past, giving obvious brow-raises and mentally WTF-ing. Good times. Sometimes maybe a movie. Always managed to shimmy into MPH and Tower Records without avail. They beckon. We are their shareholders. It is our duty to check up on them whenever we can. Which is always. Good times. And maybe leave before the entire population of the island ever so stupidly cram into one small building.

Saturdays here do not have a car. I tend to sleep in till as late as I can. The most I can muster is 11AM - if you do not count lying in bed listening to songs, that is. Put out some clothes and then proceed to endless readings for my tutorials. Not much complaints here. After all, I am reading about Montgomery Burns, The OC, Eminem, Anthony Bourdain and Versace. Time just flies on Saturdays. Granted the sun sets earlier than the 20 years of my life I had before. But still.

My campus is fantastic on weekends. (Any minute now I will put on a "I heart KG" T-shirt.) I decided to pack my laptop and leech on some good ol' Uni wireless in the library. Postgraduates swing by on weekends. They look older. Some with toddlers trailing their footsteps past rows and rows of smart books. Some of them maybe aspire to become like their parent someday. Some just wish they are at home watching cartoons. Asians swing by on weekends too. Strangely. Because if I have a life, I will not packing up my laptop and going to the library on a Saturday. But still, Asians lurk around the campus on weekends. Maybe we are more hardworking. Or maybe we are just a step behind and need an extra day to be on par. I think we are more of the latter.

Just outside the library is a good spot to sit down. The buildings surround all four sides. The wind sails and the palm trees sing. Occasional Asians walking by. I listen to All-American Rejects and Emiliana Torrini. A fairly good place to think. No human communication needed. Nobody is around.

The Inbetween

"Here in this circle of stones, a cold finger touching down his spine, eyes staring with hostility. They are around. He is home."

 

I do not know the specific date for this occasion. My parents were the one keeping track of it. Whenever they bought bouquets of chrysanthemums or carnations or daisies wrapped up in old soggy newspapers, I knew that after our church service and lunch for the day, we would be inviting ourselves amongst the death and visiting our dead relatives. I have been going to the cemetery with my parents since I was young. And each time we visit, the gravestones we put flowers at will just become more and more one year after another. It is not that I have relatives dying every year. Some years, yes. But other years, my parents just decided to pay visit to some older relatives I have not heard about.

My maternal's grandmother will always be the first. Her grave is the first to arrive. (Not that she has died first, mind you.) My uncle's ashes were buried with her. Then, my paternal grandfather. (Now he was the one who has died first; my dad was only 11.) Next to him, my paternal grandmother. See, my grandma is just a paranoid soul. Ever since my grandpa died, she has been trodding through life expecting the next step to be the last. Was never optimistic about life. Was a pain in my ass; and I to hers. Was a bunch of problems. But when she died, I could not stop crying. She was the last of the grandparents to die. Next, is my maternal grandfather. We always kind of have trouble finding her grave.

There used to be a clear path leading to my paternal grandparents' graves once upon a time. But people just die so quickly and the cemetery does not have any plans to expand, the roads were made into lying beds of the other world. Cars have to drive past carefully. Sometimes the roads are so narrow and when two cars rub shoulders, to dodge a scratch on their beloveds they rather knock down someone's unfortunate grave. Oops. What did they say about buying houses at the side of the streets?

The quiet moments. It just makes you want to cry. My parents will always turn to us sisters and jokingly ask if we have anything to say to our dead grandparents before ending it with a chuckle. Truth is, we do tal to our dead grandparents when we are there. Just not verbally. Hey, how's it going in the other world? You know, I will be graduating from college this year. I will be going to University soon. No boyfriend yet. The boys just cannot stop being annoying. Yeah. All is well. I suspect there are tears always in my father's eyes.

I took the camera along last year. I do not remember why. I just decided hey, I love cemeteries. How come I have never taken pictures of it? With an extra eye arms in hand, I seemed to take in more than I usually do that year.

I noticed a bunch of similiar gravestones near the always-never-open-might-as-well-be-torn-down "chapel" near the exit. I noticed the Australian pilots/soldiers who have died in some war unknown to me were buried in the cemetery as well. And I heard about this special gravestone with a marbled dog figure on it. The man was Andrew. Ever since Andrew died, his loyal dog has been going to his grave every single day to just lie there. The dog eventually died by the grave. The caretakers of the cemetery decided to pay tribute to this loyal dog, made a marbled figurine of him and lay it atop Andrew's grave.

I went back the next day after college to take pictures of these spots. It took me awhile to find Andrew-and-dog's grave. He was a loyal dog, was he not? Just makes you want to cry. And those brave air force teams too. Oh the sweet sweet words their families left for them. Some were as young as I was, some merely a few years older. Death is such an unpredictable thing.

I have not gotten the chance to go through those pictures yet. Just the one above.

A junior of mine from the school band died when she was only sixteen. She had a bone marrow cancer. She was healed. Then she died. (Ain't that always the case?) I was there at her funeral. It just makes me wonder how much she is missing out on life. How many memorable moments she will not be able to include in her photo albums and journals. In her mind. Now a dead static piece of brain. Her parents cried their souls out at the memorial service. The band played a fucking awful tune I did not think they paid enough respect. And it was not because they were crying while playing either. They just plain sucked after my year left. The family made a puzzle for her. The puzzle she has been trying to put together for a while. They pieced it together for her and buried it along with her six feet underground.

I wanted to see her last year while I was there. I could not find her grave anymore. It tore me to pieces.

There is this silent air flowing around. Nothing eerie. Nothing chilly. Just solace. Something peaceful. A place for you to have your quiet lonesome lunch. A place for you to reflect your current life. Nothing suicidal. Just meditative. A place for you to bring your partner to deep into the night. Make out. Make love. Nobody is watching. Do you want to count those in the ground? Nothing disgusting. Just kinky.